


Hand or Eye

by RubyIntyale



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: M/M, Tiger Balm!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 05:23:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyIntyale/pseuds/RubyIntyale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by a prompt on the kinkmeme. In retrospect, Emerson should've really known better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First published on my Livejournal on 06/06/2012.

In retrospect, Emerson should've really known better.

 

It was very rare indeed that Joe left for the night without saying goodbye. It was rarer still that Emerson himself was the last one still at the office, long after the others had gone home. Usually he lingered a little, just to watch Joe pace and move around, but he never stayed for too long. The team were suspicious enough as it was. Emerson didn't want to fuel the gossip fire with tales of his loitering in the incident room after dark.

 

But this night was different. For some reason, Emerson just couldn't leave. It was as if an invisible hand was pulling gently at the back of his suit jacket every time he got up, urging him to stay behind a few minutes longer. Eventually, it was pitch dark both inside and out, the only light a garish blue glow from Emerson's computer screen.

 

His eyes ached. His head had started to throb out a dull rhythm, but still he could not leave. He glanced towards Joe's office. It looked eerie in the dark, oddly inviting. Emerson stood up slowly, unsure of what he was doing. He glanced around the empty room, reassuring himself that he was, in fact, completely alone.

 

When had Joe left? Had he known that Emerson was still in the office? Had he noticed him at all? Emerson shook his head sadly. Probably not. He was pretty much invisible to the older DI, unless Joe wanted him to do something menial.

 

Emerson found himself gazing into Joe's office. He felt the invisible hand beckoning him. What harm could it do, really? There was nobody around. Nobody would ever know.

 

The office smelled like Joe; expensive yet subtle aftershave, soap, high end leather shoes. Emerson inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and taking everything in. He leant forward and pulled the cord on Joe's desk lamp, bathing the room in a weak, golden light. He walked around slowly, retracing Joe's steps, picturing his superior clearly in his head, smiling at the image. Eventually the urge became too strong and he sat in Joe's chair, leaning back against the plush, padded leather.

 

It aroused him somehow. He felt powerful in a way that he never had before. The chair smelled even more strongly of Joe. Emerson felt himself harden fully. He shifted, pushing his crotch down against the chair, moaning quietly at the sensation.

 

Should he? Did he dare? Joe had tormented him for so long, oblivious to his every inclination. Every lingering look, every handshake that went on just that little bit too long, every act above and beyond the call of duty, everything designed to impress. Emerson ground himself into the chair once more, biting his lower lip. He'd show him.

 

He sat up straight in the chair and stretched his legs out fully. Slightly trembling hands loosened his tie, then made their way to the button and zip of his pinstriped grey trousers. He brought himself out into the cool air of the office, gasping, his cheeks flushed with shyness and wonder at his own brazen behaviour. Whatever would Joe think?

 

Emerson began to stroke himself slowly. He was gentle, his touches soft, almost teasing. He sighed happily as he worked the skin over the head, exposing his flushed and glistening slit. The friction was perfect and not enough at the same time. He closed his fist more fully around his length and began to stroke with more force, working his hips and fucking his own hand.

 

This went on for several minutes. Emerson whimpered. He felt so close, and yet something was still eluding him. He looked down, catching sight of Joe's little pot of Tiger Balm on the desk. It was strange for Joe to leave it there. He was usually so particular about everything. Emerson picked up the pot one handed and studied the ingredients. Menthol, eucalyptus, cloves. Emerson took his hand off his dick long enough to unscrew the lid. Was this taking it a bit too far? He hardly cared. He was aching, desperate, lonely. He dipped his finger into the cool, milky gunge, and spread it around the head of his shaft.

 

The tingling! Good God! Emerson groaned loudly and began stoking again in earnest. The smell, the feel, the incredible sensation. Before long he was arching forward and coming over Joe's desk, streaking the blotter with sticky stains.

 

He sat back in the chair heavily, chest heaving. He wiped his hand on the leg of his trousers. He felt sleepy, almost drugged.

 

Someone cleared their throat quietly. Emerson's head darted up, cheeks burning. Joe stood in the doorway, a smug smile on his face, arms crossed across his chest.


	2. Chapter 2

Was it possible to die of shame? Emerson decided that he'd settle for being a shrivelled, embarrassed husk for the time being. He zipped himself up so fast he just avoided nicking the skin and stared at Joe.

The older man shrugged, the smile never leaving his face, “Show's over then? Pity.”

Emerson coughed and said nothing. He had never felt such mortification in his entire life. Why was Joe just standing there? Emerson was expecting shouting, disgust, and eventual dismissal, not smiling. It was deeply unsettling. Also, he was beginning to regret masturbating with the Tiger Balm. The delicious tingling of fifteen minutes ago had become a rather unpleasant burning sensation.

He coughed again. “Look, Sir, you er. You weren't supposed to see that.”

“Clearly.”

“Well, er, the thing is, I thought I was alone,” Emerson looked at the desk, but the mess made his cheeks burn, so he looked away again.

“I'm intrigued. Do you normally have a wank in my office when I'm not here?”

“What?!”

“Calm down, Kent. You look like you're about to hyperventilate.”

Emerson's eyes felt too big for his own head. He continued to stare at Joe, who's smile was now bigger than ever.

Joe walked towards the desk. “What do you expect me to think, hmm? I come back from a frankly tedious underground meeting with Buchan to find you, in my chair, all desperate and pretty for me,” he smeared his thumb in the fluid on the desk, “what am I supposed to think?” He touched the tip of his tongue to his thumb gently.

Emerson felt sure he really had died of shame. That was the only explanation for this completely bizarre turn of events.

Joe shrugged again. He walked around the desk very slowly, leaned over Emerson, and kissed him.

It took Emerson awhile to work out that he was supposed to kiss back. Joe was being very patient, waiting for him to ease into it, so to speak. He opened his mouth a little, deepening the contact. They kissed until Emerson's neck started to ache from the strange angle. He pulled away slightly.

“Sir?”

Joe cocked his head on one side.

“What's going on?” Emerson all but whispered, running his tongue along his bottom lip and tasting the heady mixture of both himself and Joe.

Joe nuzzled his neck. “You tell me.”

Emerson closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I know what I want it to be.” He whimpered as Joe bit down slightly on his neck.

“Hmm, I'd gathered that you were interested, considering it was my office you chose.”

Emerson laughed an uncomfortable little laugh. “I'm transparent really.”

Joe kissed the same spot he'd just bitten, “Completely.”

“You're oblivious though,” fresh arousal was making Emerson overly confident.

“Am I?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Why am I doing this then?” Joe reached down and gave Emerson a squeeze through his trousers.

Emerson whimpered.

Joe smiled, “Stand up.”

Emerson shakily got to his feet. He felt panicked and dizzy. Joe's behaviour was completely surreal, but he wasn't going to question it. They were almost face to face now. Joe slowly pushed Emerson's jacket off his shoulders.

“Relax,” he kissed him briefly, “we're alone.”

Emerson swallowed. “I'll take your word for that. I seem to be a rather bad judge of whether I'm alone or not.”

The joke fell flat. Joe un-knotted Emerson's tie and let it drop to the floor before he went to work on the buttons of his shirt.

Emerson tried and failed to keep his breathing regular. Something inside his head was screaming repeatedly and doing a little happy dance. He closed his eyes and swayed.

“Still with me?” Joe had his shirt completely open now, but he didn't take it off.

Emerson nodded, but didn't open his eyes. Joe unzipped his trousers and pushed them down his narrow hips.

“Good. Bend over the desk.”

Emerson's eyes flicked open. He raised an eyebrow.

“If you want to,” Joe grinned.

Emerson smiled back nervously, and slowly turned around.

Christ, he had never felt so fucking naughty. It was insane. He could feel every hair on his body standing on end. He heard Joe open and close one of the desk drawers, the click of a bottle cap, and then something cool and smooth was being stroked into him, opening him up.  
He looked at Joe over his shoulder. “You keep lube in your desk?”

Joe held the bottle up so that he could see it, “No. Handcream. Unscented. Very manly.”

Emerson snorted and lowered his head back to the desk.

Joe's fingers felt incredible. Soon he was groaning softly and rocking against the desk, desperate for friction. Joe withdrew his fingers slowly, and Emerson heard a belt being undone and the rustle of clothing. The chair creaked as Joe sat down on it.

“Come here,” he stroked Emerson's sides and eased him onto his lap, sliding inside with little resistance.

“Ahh, God,” Emerson gasped and held onto the desk to steady himself.

Joe was breathing heavily, “Alright?”

“Yeah.”

Emerson felt as if he could scream with pleasure. He felt so full and stretched, and the position was just so...Christ. He was half naked, and Joe was almost fully dressed, and he was sitting in his fucking lap. He whimpered and Joe built up more of a rhythm.

The chair clunked and complained. It was one of those stupid spring loaded, height adjustable things, so it bounced slightly every time Emerson sat back down.

“Agh! Stop, stop!” Joe stilled his hips rather forcefully and pulled out.

“What? Joe? What's wrong?!”

“Effing stupid thing,” Joe tucked himself back into his trousers, “I'm sorry, Emerson. It's that ridiculous chair. It's completely throwing me off.”

“Oh,” Emerson's erection wilted, “I understand.”

Joe ran a hand through his hair, “Luckily I don't live that far away.”

Emerson blinked at him.

“Well, you are coming home with me, aren't you?”

Emerson nodded in an embarrassingly enthusiastic way and hastily straightened his clothes.

“Good,” Joe pulled a few tissues out of the box on his bookcase and wiped off the desk. “Don't forget the Tiger Balm.”


	3. Chapter 3

Emerson was fidgety in the car. His eyes kept flicking between the dark, quickly moving scenery outside and Joe, relaxed in the driver's seat, immaculate white cuffs pulled back off his wrists slightly, the material crumpling every time he moved to turn the wheel. Emerson squirmed around a little, still slick from their earlier activities. He cleared his throat several times, but said nothing. Joe seemed content to drive in silence.

 

They reached Joe's flat and hurried up the steps. It was a sticky, close sort of night. There was no breeze. Joe opened the door and ushered Emerson inside ahead of him, turning the lock quietly so as not to wake his neighbours.

 

“Drink?” He asked over his shoulder as he walked towards the kitchen, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over the back of a sleek steel chair.

 

“Mmm, please,” Emerson followed him.

 

The kitchen was pristine. White tiles and chrome. Joe took two bottles of water out of the fridge and passed one to Emerson, opening the lid of the second and taking a long drink himself. Emerson watched his throat move before quickly looking away.

 

He felt a blush creeping up his neck. This was ridiculous. Joe had been balls deep inside him no more than half an hour ago. Why was he suddenly shy? And why was Joe so calm and nonchalant? Did he do this sort of thing often? Was Emerson just one more in a long line of conquests? He didn't know if he could stand that. He shuffled his feet on Joe's highly polished grey lino.

 

“I can hear you thinking,” Joe leant against the fridge and studied Emerson closely, “do you want to leave?”

 

Emerson shook his head.

 

“Alright. Do you want to talk?”

 

Emerson shrugged. “Not really.”

 

“Fuck?”

 

Emerson half laughed, half coughed. “You did kind of leave me right in the middle, before.”

 

Joe frowned and shook his head. “Fucking chair.”

 

Emerson heard him mumble something under his breath about replacing it before he crossed the kitchen and stopped a few inches away.

 

“I'm sorry, Emerson. I can be a bit...Particular. About things.”

 

“I know. I understand,” Emerson was having a hard time breathing with Joe this close to him.

 

Joe smiled, “I know you do. That's why I like you.”

 

“You like me?”

 

“Trust me, you wouldn't be here if I didn't. This isn't how I normally behave, I can assure you.”

 

Emerson smiled back, “That's good to know.”

 

“Mmm,” Joe leant forward and kissed him deeply, stroking his upper arms before snuggling in close to him. He pulled away slowly, “do you want to go to bed with me?” Said very quietly, his voice deep, sincere.

 

Emerson nodded, whimpering as he pulled Joe closer for another kiss. Joe ran a hand through Emerson's dark curls, stroking his scalp. Emerson sighed happily, leaning into the touch like a cat. Joe took him by the hand and led him out of the kitchen.

 

Joe's bedroom was in much the same vein as his kitchen. White walls, plush grey carpet, grey sheets of a dizzyingly high thread count. Joe had taken off his tie and was quickly unbuttoning his shirt. Emerson watched, mouth watering.

 

Joe saw him looking, “I thought I'd even the score a bit, this time.”

 

Emerson grinned, “Good. Why should you get to have all the fun?”

 

“Why indeed.”

 

Emerson helped him with the last few buttons, kissing his neck every time he worked a button through its hole. Joe leant his head back, giving Emerson more room. His eyes closed and he practically purred. His shirt fluttered to the floor as Emerson concentrated on his lower half.

 

Soon they were both naked and kissing in the middle of the room. Joe ran his hands down Emerson's back, his long fingers teasing gently into the younger man's opening.

 

“Oh God,” Joe groaned, “you're still wet.”

 

Emerson gasped and arched closer to him, “Need more lube though.” He mouthed at Joe's shoulder.

 

The DI backed him towards the bed, pushing his shoulders gently to make him sit, then lay down. He turned Emerson carefully onto his side and spooned up behind him. He took the younger man in hand and stroked him gently. Emerson was soon fully hard and aching, leaking onto the sheets.

 

Joe turned over and opened the little drawer in his bedside table. He uncapped the lube and squirted a generous amount onto his palm before sealing it up again and putting it back in the drawer. Emerson wriggled slightly, making himself more comfortable. He heard Joe slicking himself up and then he was there, snuggled close behind him and easing himself inside in one slow push.

 

Both men moaned loudly as their bodies joined together. Joe pulled Emerson's hips back, changing the angle and fitting them snugly together. He stroked Emerson's stomach with his right hand, and kissed him on the cheek.

 

“OK?”

 

“Yeah,” Emerson sighed happily.

 

The urgency of their earlier encounter had all but vanished. Joe alternated between stroking Emerson's stomach and stroking his thighs, murmuring sweet, sexy things to him as he fucked him slowly. Emerson whimpered breathy encouragements, completely overstimulated and blissed out.

 

Eventually though, it wasn't enough. “Joe,” he panted, “I need it harder. I need to come. Please.”

 

“Roll over.”

 

Emerson rolled onto his back. Joe hovered over him, lifting his leg and bending it until it was nearly up to his chest before sinking back inside again. Joe's movements were only marginally faster, but it was enough. Within mere moments, Emerson was sobbing into his chest as he came hard, and Joe wasn't far behind him.

 

Joe reluctantly pulled out and settled down on the damp sheets. They were both sticky, sweaty and exhausted.

 

“Shower,” Joe mumbled, already drifting off, “need to change the sheets.”

 

“Sleep now,” Emerson yawned as he closed his eyes.

 

“Mmmm OK.”


End file.
